


Gentle Progress

by violetrabbit



Category: League of Legends
Genre: I don't know how to tag this, M/M, Named Characters, Slowest Burn, Viktor POV, before the fallout, college days, everything from first day of college to the fallout, i swear this is like actually crap, it's slow burn, pewpew, transferring over from ff.net
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2019-06-18 14:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15487992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetrabbit/pseuds/violetrabbit
Summary: Viktor Faust has lived his entire life below the smog of Zaun. Through the kindness of a Professor of the Piltovian Techmaturgy College, he aims to make the world a better place. Jayce Giopara has never had competition in the realm of academics. He didn't realize there was anyone on his level. Now, the playing field is even. Neither one knows what's about to hit them.





	1. Beginnings

The change of air quality was a simple one to any Piltovian. From smog to clear skies in moments, a comfort to those who had decided to venture down below for whatever reason they had chosen. Whether it was for Shimmer or Glitter, or for pieces of equipment not available on Piltover’s gleaming, spotless market, someone always had a reason to come down. 

Very rarely did anyone go up. 

Viktor winced at the morning sunlight that initially filtered through, one hand lifting to hide his eyes from the glimmering celestial body. He had only ever seen it once, on Progress Day. As a child, it had been such an amazing sight that he had refused to look away - resulting in glasses and teasing from the adults. 

Now, however, that was no longer his focus. Grey eyes refocused as the lift came to a stop, free hand lowering as the other reached down for his small, weathered suitcase - he still had to pay Mister Faircog back for the thing. His mind refocused on the task at hand as he caught a glimpse at the Piltovians who had taken such gracious notice of his skill; Stanwick stood there, beaming with all his might. A woman, cold and crisp with naught but a crucifying gaze, stood next to him; in comparison to Viktor, they appeared to be dressed to the nines, and the Zaunite suddenly felt exceptionally undressed. 

Stanwick was plump by all regards, though it did not stop him from wearing a raincoat and a suit; reds and yellows fit him nicely, along with the strange, bushy moustache he had grown. It curled inversely on the end, yet still appeared quite welcoming; Viktor wouldn't ask, but he was mildly concerned the man's moustache was his mouth. 

The woman, however, sent twists into his stomach. Tall, thin and lean, her dark eyes stared him down like a hawk. Ebony hair was pinned up into a tight, well fitting bun, and her dress was that of a woman in no mood for chatter. She looked almost as if she had mixed lab attire with high fashion and made it mesh with impeccable style. 

“Viktor, I'm so pleased you accepted!” Stanwick was eager, stepping on the lift to usher Viktor off. He glanced around; unlike the ever busy Zaun, Piltover seemed to be calm in the mornings. A few street cleaners were busy with their work, and lab assistants - or what he guessed to be lab assistants - ran down the sidewalk hurriedly. How they ran so fast in coats that stuffy was beyond Viktor.

“Viktor Faust, meet Headmistress Miella Sparks. Headmistress Sparks, this is Viktor, the young man I recommended. His work is astounding for someone so young-” 

“You have elaborated on this before,” the woman replied, a sneer developing as she spoke. Viktor felt a strange urge to step back onto the lift and forget about the opportunity; her gaze was flickering up and down his body like a hawk. His old lab coat and hand-me-down clothing were being scrutinized, and somehow, he felt even more out of place than before. 

“Mister Faust. I want you to be aware from the very moment you take another step forward that you are not here as an inclusion exercise. You are not going to be treated with special exceptions or handicaps. I am aware Zaun seems to give those out freely-”

“Zhey don't, Headmiztress.” 

She blinked. She seemed stunned, peering at him strangely. A raised brow, a lean forward, and the auburn haired Zaunite immediately felt like he should be running. She stepped forward, glancing him over, even as he shifted uncomfortably and cast a glance to the all too cheery Stanwick. 

“You understand the ramifications? Many will assume you are a publicity stunt. Your professors will push you to your absolute limit. No Piltovian student will work with you,” she continued. “None that are close minded. You will be rooming with someone of equal intelligence, which we will gauge upon your entry. You are a representative of Zaun if you step past this loading dock. Every important eye in Piltover will be watching you. I cannot promise I will be able to deal with any sort of discrimination until you prove that the assumptions about your city are untrue.”

Viktor found himself staring up at her. She was far different up close; high cheekbones cast a shadow at a distance, but left her quite appealing in personal space. She looked almost like an exhausted grandmother, he thought, and it was a mild comfort. 

“Yes,” he replied, a curt nod with his agreement. “I am quite av-aware. I am happy to show my vork.”

He grimaced internally. He had been born in the Entresol level, yes, but he had been raised below it; down where the accent of Zaun became thick and heavy. It would take years to get rid of it, to sound like a Piltovian. 

Hopefully this would be over before he lost his language. 

“You speak Piltovian astoundingly well. Stanwick, cancel the translator. He won't need it. Mister Faust,” Headmistress Sparks said with a huff as she straightened and walked away at such a pace Viktor feared he would have to jog to keep up, “Welcome to Piltover.”

\-- 

Stanwick and Viktor jogged behind Headmistress Sparks, the former of the two keeping a stronger pace while the latter struggled to keep his suitcase. Light but awkward, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted it anymore. 

Then again, it would be helpful to keep his few things away from his future roommate with. 

As she walked and they followed, Stanwick told him of notable places along the way; the cafe on Copperwire Avenue, the library on East Third Street, the tailor on Steelbark Road. He tried to keep mental note, but if he was honest, it was all quite overwhelming; Piltover was clean, gleaming and shining and almost unnerving. He missed the busy streets and yelling over each other; the children who would run around at all times of day and ask for adults to play ball with them. Something told him such things weren't seen here. 

Eventually, the Headmistress slowed. Viktor took the moment to catch his breath, leaning over onto his knees as he realized quite how different breathing was up here. Stanwick seemed cheery enough for them both, and when he looked up again, he was glad for it; wrought iron gates with copper inlay was the only thing now keeping him from an education. 

“Professor Stanwick, go inform our students that there will be a dormitory rearrangement in the male wing. I'm sure they'd like to be aware before the semester begins.” 

“Right away!” Stanwick nudged Viktor with a laugh. “Don't get cold feet! The initial test is only an hour!” And the heaviest man was jogging through slowly opening gates.

What the Headmistress had done to open them, he had no idea. She gestured for him to follow, and so he did, scrambling to keep up as he tried to take in the sight. Seven main buildings, with a central building in the center; he guessed that the building Stanwick had run off to was the dormitory. Beyond that - he had no idea. 

Perhaps it wasn't in his best interest to be hawking as he followed, he realized far too late - he had already slammed directly into another student, much to the amusement of the Headmistress. 

“Watch where you're going-” 

“Hy vas following her!”

“Can't walk and watch at the same time? What are you even doing here?”

Viktor got up, brushing himself off; the man he'd walked into, or had walked into him, was doing the same. Taller, by appearance stronger, and with hair half swept to the side - 

“Giopara, return to the dormitory. Stanwick had instructions.”

Giopara. 

“Who the hells is this, Sparks-” 

“Your father may donate money, Giopara, but he doesn't dictate who we let in. Now go, before you get detention the first week.” 

Viktor watched the irritated, blond man shake his head and storm off. He was stunned, shocked, even a little insulted; he grumbled in Zaunite, keeping his focus on where he was going as Headmistress Sparks continued on. 

“Who vas-” 

“That, Mister Faust, was Jayce Dean Giopara. You won't like him. Nobody does.”


	2. First Day Jitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey ever taken a test and absolutely HATED it because viktor relates

Five flights of stairs and a walk through the main hall later, Viktor found himself clutching to his suitcase with a twisting anxiety. Grey eyes scanned every doorway, including the one he was led through; a single desk had been placed in front of a chalkboard, along with three textbooks and a packet of paper. 

“Take your seat and begin. Once you start, you will have one hour from your pen touching paper.” 

\---

The test itself was tedious if nothing else. His foot tapped the suitcase at his feet, even as he flipped through page after page and found what he needed. The pen shook when his foot stilled, his eyes flickered if it got too quiet. Nervous habits were hard to break, especially when you were simply trying to accomplish a stressing task in as little time as possible.

The questions ranged from basic mathematics to advanced engineering, as did the textbooks; it was like hunting a needle in a haystack at times, others simply using his brain to find the logical answer. How many times he skimmed over the same page was irrelevant; the number of questions he answered was all that mattered. 

The ticking of the clock was the only thing that kept him paced. His anxiety was strong, though it was to be expected; the health of his university years was hanging in the balance. When the bell was rung and he had to put the pen down, his jitters somehow because worse, stilled only long enough to hand the headmistress the paper. It was fair to be nervous, he was sure, considering he was going to be placed with a likely abrasive Piltovian. He couldn't fathom being placed with someone below him in intelligence, in ingenuity and intuition - he might actually go insane. 

The Headmistress was quiet in her examinations, leading to Viktor awkwardly and quietly playing with the pen provided; it had taken an hour to complete the assessment, and it took an hour to review, apparently. Viktor suffered the anxiety, biting his lip and watching the clock tick by. He had nothing better to do. 

\--

“Mister Faust, I highly recommend you head to the dormitory,” the Headmistress said, finally breaking the silence. Viktor jolted out of his stupor, immediately getting to his feet and picking up his suitcase. The Headmistress gave him a look over her glasses, one that felt more scrutinizing than it actually was, and brushed off the sudden movement. He adjusted his coat, his nervous jitters finally making his hands grasp a little tighter than before.

“Professor Stanwick will receive your placement momentarily. I must wish you good luck, for you’ll need it,” she sighed, adjusting her glasses a final time before waving him to dismissal. He nodded, quietly escorting himself from the classroom with a hurried pace. Of course, he didn’t need to speak; he knew well his accent was one that drew attention, which was the last thing he wanted attention for. Quickly enough, Viktor had escorted himself down the stairs and through the hall and down the outdoor stairwell; he recognized where he’d slammed into Giopara, wondering idly if he’d managed to make a bad first impression. At least the campus was expansive enough to never meet the man again. 

He approached the dormitory, watching the clock of the main building. He knew how to read an analog clock; the flipping numbered ones were new, and not all of them accurate… or safe. Five minutes - ten, counting his descent, and he had made it to the dormitory entrance. He had finally found himself face to face with the round, squat Stanwick once again; the strange professor seemed a little put off, awkward even, as he helped Viktor up the stairs of the dormitory.

“Now, normally, we wouldn’t be rooming you with anyone,” Stanwick began. “Very few students ever score past the 1800 mark, let alone into the 1900 category, but you excelled in your entry exam. You were placed with someone of equal intelligence, and, unfortunately, I don’t believe he’s keen on it…”

“He’s not,” a rather strange blonde chided as they passed. “He’s been cursing in Shuriman for the past five minutes. Good luck, newbie.”

“Ezreal, shouldn’t you be three floors down?”

“Shouldn’t you be four?”

Viktor snorted. He couldn’t help it - Stanwick looked hilarious when he looked almost like a steaming rat-skewer. He covered his mouth as he ignored the tirade Stanwick went on, the young blonde - Ezreal, he thought he’d heard - deciding to scamper off as quickly as his absurd boots would take him.

“In any case,” Stanwick sighed as the blonde bolted down the stairs, electing to lead Viktor down the hallway of their current floor, “I believe we’ve almost reached his room. Come along then. Ah, right - the female and male dorms are separated on a biological basis, but if your identity swings that way…”

“I am very confident vith my identity, Professor,” Viktor replied.

“Excellent, we don’t have to deal with paperwork. Here it is,” Stanwick chuckled, coming to a stop in front of a copper-toned wooden door. The number read 414 - fourth floor, fourteenth room. Viktor could hear the faint sound of foreign cursing, though he knew not what was being said.

“You’ll receive your classes tomorrow morning, Mister Faust. Please don’t make a professor come up here over bunk calls or chemistry spills - I believe Professor Mydra might actually shoot the next student who does that.”

“I, ah, I vill try.”

“That’s all we can ask, I suppose. Here’s your room key, and I’ll be seeing you next week,” Stanwick replied, handing Viktor a small, steel key that felt a little too light in his hand. He turned to ask Stanwick one last thing, finding instead that the man was hurrying off, going downstairs faster than Viktor imagined he could go without rolling.

Instead of chasing him, the Zaunite resolved to simply ask later, opening the door as he expected he had to. To his surprise, and heartfelt disappointment, a slightly familiar blonde-haired face turned to meet him. Bluish eyes, much like that of a beaker, met Smog grey; it was an almost simultaneous phrase, uttered in two separate languages, though Viktor could’ve sworn the other man had added a word.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes viktor is a dark redhead and Jayce is blonde and have i mentioned i'm fucking smitten


	3. Greetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm on a train and tired have a chapter

Viktor had quietly been allowed within the dormitory room. Two bunks, the lower one being hastily cleaned off by the blonde, were both covered in Piltover blue bedding. The walls were pale, not quite blue or white or grey; the two work tables were already occupied, two separate projects already underway. Viktor noted internally that the the other man was remarkably clean, though mildly disorganized; every item was pristine, every inch of the workbenches wiped down. He cast a glance to the project that had the desk lamp shining on it; grey eyes took in the sight of what appeared to be augmented goggles, though his attention was called away before he could get a better look.

“You crashed into me,” the blonde started. 

“And it seems I have been roomed vith you as vell.” Viktor winced on the inside. He didn’t mean to let that slip - he felt a twinge of embarrassment. Everyone in Piltover spoke with such punctuation and he…

“Jayce. You?”

“Viktor. Uh, Faust. Viktor Fauts.”

“Giopara.” 

It was awkward. Clipped words and quiet glances. He felt a little better knowing that the other man wasn’t exactly adjusted to conversation either. He glanced at the banks, grip never loosening on the suitcase as he warily took a seat; Jayce didn’t object as he sat back on his workbench chair, legs folding and hands resting on the knee. Jayce wore gloves, white and clean, a jolting reality that he was no longer in Zaun. They could afford to keep whites pristine, to keep copper from staining and steel from hiding behind darkened residue. They could afford to preserve the innocence of whatever they wished.

Something in him felt a resentment, a bitter internal reminder that he’d chosen to leave the comfort of the undercity. 

“You mind having lower bunk?”

“No. I vould have slept on the floor if necessary.”

“Dedicated, but I think you’d have died the first night when I leapt out of bed, and that just wouldn’t go on my record well.”

Viktor had to crack a smile. Jayce’s face cracked into a dry smile. At least they had a similar sense of humour. This… might not be so bad.

“I’m going to be honest,” Jayce sighed, smile running off his face. “I am, according to every dumbass here, rude and crass and unsociable. I don’t know how you managed to get into this bracket, but I’m not about to help you. You’ll have to make it work.”

“I cannot imagine where they get zhat idea,” Viktor murmured. “I have made it vork before. Better than most of my peers. I am sure I von’t be a problem for anything but your ego.”

Jayce’s eyes narrowed. Viktor couldn’t help the smile he cracked. He’d obviously hit a nerve; if Jayce was going to be so rude, Viktor saw no point in simply dodging the elephant. Viktor had known that he wouldn’t be greeted with kindness, let alone a polite nature. Piltovians and Zaunites didn’t get along - it was an unspoken rule, one that wasn’t supposed to be broken in public. Nobody was supposed to dare humour the other side - Viktor was crossing lines and stepping on toes by even being here.

Jayce looked him in the eye, leaning forward - he didn’t have a smile, but the amusement was clear.

“Sump-sucker.”

“Goldskin.”

“Smog boy.”

“Glitterchild.”

“Bitch.”

“Asshole.”

“Whore.”

 

“Jyklaska.”

“What the fuck?”

Jayce had burst out laughing, and Viktor couldn’t help his own intense giggling; he covered his mouth, shaking his head as he gasped for air. Oh, that was golden - Jayce had looked shocked, rubbing his face and shaking his own head with a hearty laugh.

“What the fuck is a jilaska?”

“Jyklaska,” Viktor corrected. “It is Zaunite. In Piltovian, I believe it roughly translates to ‘baron’s cockucker’.”

“Oh my gears-”

Jayce was laughing hard enough to hurt himself, having to uncross his legs and fold his hands over his stomach. Again, he had to inhale, the laughter restarting as he tried to breathe. He eventually ceased, though Viktor was delighted to see the smile was genuine. 

“Alright. You’re supposedly on my level, so get over here and tell me what’s wrong with the schematics.”

The thing about unspoken rules was that they could be broken behind closed doors. Perhaps others would still tread lightly on those lines in the sand, but Viktor only saw an equal here; even as he got up, a hand reaching over Jayce’s shoulder as the man turned back to the goggles he’d been working on previously; Viktor knew better than to expect such leisurely conversation and association beyond this, the space in which nobody else would see.

But a little was enough..


	4. Warning Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i can't copy paste will smith in here but jayce and vik butt heads later on sorry it's not instant

Two days had passed since Jayce had welcomed him to the dormitory. It’d been rough to begin with, but they’d soon figured out how to work together; Viktor’s incessant, almost obsessive urge to organize worked well with Jace’s struggle to keep his items in an orderly fashion, and Jayce’s nearly germaphobic behaviour kept everything clean. They had cleared off the secondary workbench within the first day; it had been an experience, one that Viktor had thoroughly enjoyed. It was strange to learn that the blond hadn’t learned color coding as a child, though Viktor hadn’t known how to properly clean wood, so he decided it wasn’t entirely a bad thing.

Jayce had given him half the closet, though he’d quickly regained most of it; with only three or four jackets to Viktor’s name, Jayce had plenty of room to spread out.

AS of now, however, he was sitting at the second workbench, quietly unpacking his single suitcase; Jayce had gone downstairs, saying something about hunger. It wa understandable; Viktor hadn’t seen him eat since he arrived. The smaller man had stayed behind to finally pull out his few belongings; the Zaunite had simply assumed the time would be easier to use. 

Three changes of clothes, each one just as tattered and worn as the one he currently wore; he wondered if the white on them could be restored if he asked the maids to try. He placed them quietly in the top drawer of the stand Jayce had cleared out for him; in the lower drawer, he found that the rest of his belongings fell easily inside. A small compass, the remains of his first toolkit, a small piece of machinery he’d never figured out quite what was for. Lastly, he pulled out the small pair of pictures hidden in the folding compartment; within them, his mother and father resided, and he couldn’t help the pang of homesickness as he put the case away.

He knelt to put his suitcase away, sliding the case under the nightstand; as he stood, brushing his hands off, he heard Giopara’s voice behind him.

“Every Zaunite have so little to their names, or just you?”

Viktor turned, sitting on the bed with a soft sigh. Jayce was leaning in the doorway, taking bites out of an apple and watching him; he had an envelope in his hand, which was quickly tossed onto the bed. Viktor eyed him suspiciously before opening it, finding that he’d been issued a Collegiate ID - he cracked a small smile. 

“Mostly just me,” Viktor replied, quietly placing the card on the nightstand. “Vith absent and sleeping in the attic of a vorkshop, you don’t keep much.”

Jayce eyed him, almost suspiciously, before shrugging and coming fully inside. Viktor unfolded the envelope, removing the second piece of paper quietly smoothing out the envelope creases before standing and grabbing a pencil from the workbench. Idly, he sat down, sketching out a rough draft of a device as Jayce moved around behind him.

“Classes start tomorrow. That thing with your ID was your schedule,” Jayce commented. “Sparks wants me to crash course you, but you’re probably smart enough to figure this shit out on your own.”

“You are ridiculously vulgar for a Piltovian.”

“Is that an insult?”

“Do you vant it to be?”

THe ensuing silence was enough that Viktor actually paused. He turned to look at Jayce, who was staring right back at him; the befuddlement on his face kept the room quiet, at least for the time being. It was only now that Viktor really realized how large his roommate was; Giopara stood tall enough to dwarf Viktor at full height, with broad shoulders and a sharp jawline; it was strange to see the difference between himself and the man in front of him.

“I don’t know.”

The response was clipped, and was not followed; Jayce took his seat beside Viktor at his own workbench. The Piltovian reached over, handing Viktor a small, copper box; with it came a headset much like a lift operator’s, which was already plugged into the box. “Music.”

Jayce put his own headset on, and Viktor quietly did the same; perhaps he was new to this side of the cities, but he wouldn’t deny it was nice to be given the chance to adjust before he had to dive in headfirst. 

The song that began was not unlike what Viktor would hear on the street on the Promenade; a song about mechanical giraffes and steam powered hippos, whatever those were. He couldn’t help the faint smile that flitted across his face; he looked up to Jayce.

“Vhat do I owe you for this?”

“Nothing. Thought it’d help you ignore everyone else. Believe me, you’re going to want to.”


	5. wow the blonde has a point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACK  
> sorry i'm late, it's been hectic, have a short entry, it'll be better next round whEE

When Jayce had commented that he’d want to ignore the others in this life, he thought of it as a jest. In fact, he’d passed it off as the normal level of disdain Zaunites received. He’d treated it as just another morning, though he’d gotten up far earlier than Jayce and been out the door when the blond was only first waking up. It was only after the first hour that he realized why the other man had been so blunt.

First, it was being given wrong directions. Then it was whispers. And then, for some gear-forsaken reason, someone believed it would be funny to dump the residue of a vat filter on him right before class. He’d been quiet, not wanting to raise a fuss; he was here as a guest, by all technicalities.So he’d simply changed his seat, waited through class, and gotten to the nearest bathroom as soon as physically possible.

As of now, he was trying to get the gunk out of his hair. Something in him wanted to get them back; instead, he bit his lip, quietly accepting the situation. It would get better if he simply didn’t give them a reaction - it worked this way in Zaun, too, save with more lethal consequences if you were stupid enough to give them a reason to continue coming after you. 

He rubbed his face, looking at his hair. It was darker, like he hadn’t washed his hair and been in the smog for a few days. He grimaced, shaking his head - he’d just have to wash it completely later. He tried to wipe it off one last time, tossing the towel into the hamper once done; he wished the classes he had to attend could be postponed for a brief second, before deciding that it was a ridiculous sentiment. He looked at himself in the mirror; remnants stuck to his cheek, his ear, above his eye- ah, it’d be fine.

He pulled away from the mirror, picking his bag up again; he looked down at the coat he’d brought with; he knew it would stain, but he didn’t feel as though taking it off would help. In fact, he felt like such an act would effectively make this that much worse. He looked at the stains, knowing well they wouldn’t come out of such old fabric and grimacing. He didn’t have the money-

He shook his head. This would be fine- he’d figure it out. He would have to. 

He set his bag no the counter, fishing out the small machine Jayce had given him. He connected the headset to the machine, turning it on and putting the earphones on. 

Jayce had a point.


	6. Reminders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi im back with self care and soon to come bad things

Several weeks had passed since the first day of classes. Viktor- now called a variety of names, from sootrat to grease monkey- had elected that for one day, and just this one day, on the day of restful winds, he would emerge from his studies… 

For some much needed self care. 

He had showered once Jayce had left for a meeting with his professors, opting yet again out of any awkward conversations; he admired the ink on his arms and chest as he had washed, the clockwork and the heart mixing fluidly. He still had to may Magpie back for the work he had done; the artist was hard to book, but his work was worth every moment. 

He’d dressed in simple, easy clothing meant for relaxation; a loose green shirt and plain khaki pants. He had yet to replace the pants he'd come in with… but these would do. His hair was left to air dry, he had decided, as it wasn't terribly long yet; absently threading a hand through it as he stepped out of the bathroom, his mind wandered, and his thoughts came to the room. He lifted his eyes, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Grey met grey, and he noticed his Zaunite pallor had begun to fade, and his hair- a sift auburn- was now a little brighter. He hadn't even been out of the Smog for six months… is this what people truly experienced once they left the twisting streets of Zaun?

He tore his eyes away, moving over to the bed. He had taken the upper bunk, mostly because Jayce had looked visibly awkward and anxious when he offered to take the lower; Viktor had understood, for few trusted Zaunites. Before he climbed, the man reached to his work table, snatching up a book. 

An Examination of Demacian Bureaucracy, by Andre Wickerhall- Wickerhall was always a strange man to read. Often the text would rant and ramble about something that wasn't quite the subject for a while, before ultimately returning to the matter at hand with profound insight and a strange, rushed wording. 

He tossed the book up first, before climbing up the short ladder. The moment he was in the bed, he crawled toward the pillow and pulled the covers up by the corner; he tucked himself between the blankets and the bed, pulling the book up to begin reading as he settled against the pillow. It was half aware that he realized his pillow would be wet when he laid down to actually sleep tonight- 

And then he remembered he barely slept as it was. 

For a while, it was quiet. Viktor made decent progress in the book, covering four or five chapters in a couple of hours- and given the fact each chapter was a sickening forty to fifty pages long in small print, he was rather proud of himself. He barely noticed when the door opened, the now familiar footsteps of Jayce filling the former silence. 

Jayce stopped by the bunks, poking his head up high enough to peer into Viktor's space. “Hey, neat freak.”

Viktor his his smile behind his book. “Vhat is it, germaphobe?”

Blue eyes disappeared under the edge of the bed, and he listened to Jayce move around.

“You remember the huge debacle with the Cloudfarer?”

“It got airships banned, if I recall correctly.”

“Yeah! That’s the one,” Jayce’s voice confirmed from under the bunk, before the tall blonde stood upright and peered over the edge of the bed. “They’ve gone and made a musical theatre piece for it. Some girl called Caitlyn is Captain Miller.”

Viktor raised a brow, but leaned toward the edge of the bed. “Vhen?”

“This weekend. Cogsday evening. You willing?”

“Villing to try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cogsday is essentially Saturday!


	7. Theatre Hall | 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jayce and Viktor prepare for a night at the theater, in an attempt to both show that Zaun has class and as a gesture of goodwill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In advance i apologize for the decrease in writing quality at the end, the last bit was me fumbling but ayyyyo- expect the next chapter in the next week. Also- I will be publishing the actual play they're watching; it's called The Cloudfarer's Folly, and it's based off true events in this timeline.

The mirror showed a man with good sense of Piltovian style. A waistcoat that wasn’t quite green, but rather a blackish relative. The waistcoat was far more vibrant, a beautiful verdant shade that caught in the light; paired with black pants and shining black shoes, Viktor could have passed for a member of the higher echelons of Piltover. 

His hair was brushed back, and through the convincing of Jayce, clipped into place; he felt uncomfortable, almost, as though he didn’t truly belong in such clothing. He preferred his trench coat, his suspenders; his own worn, less pinchy shoes. He could feel the tightness in the gloves, the rigidity in the belt. 

Jayce had taken him measurements, and gone to a tailor the night before; from what he understood, the tailor was told to use the colors of Zaun in a flattering way. The clothing fit well,, and felt to be brand new- and Jayce had asked for nothing in return save for a few hours of Viktor’s time at the theatre. The Piltovian had been insistent as to his attendance; his clothing was to aid in blending in. 

He heard a knock on the door before the blond entered. He was dressed in black and blue; his coat, a beautiful soft fabric, was lined in fur. His vest, belt and pants were a matching shade of black; his undershirt a vibrant, almost teal blue. He wore a scarf around his shoulders, tucked into his vest- something Viktor realized he’d forgotten to put on.

Jayce paused before he spoke, seeming to give Viktor the same glance-over that he’d given himself. He furrowed his brows for a moment, before shaking his head, as though forgoing the opportunity to speak on something. “You look… out of your element.”

“I don’t care much for zhis… formality.” He tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt, shifting in his shoes. “Is it truly necessary to view a play?”

“In Piltover, dress any less and you’re kicked out.” He could hear the sarcasm in his roommate’s voice without looking up. He didn’t realize he’d cracked a smile until it was too late to either deny or hide. He still tried- and regretted it anyway, for it was intensely quiet in the next few moments.

“It’s getting colder,” Jayce commented idly as he stepped forward. Viktor had a moment to process what was being done before it happened; he felt the scarf wrapped around his shoulders before he had registered what Jayce had done. 

“But zhis is-”

 

“Viktor, you catching a cold means I have to bring you notes. I’m not staying awake through Stanwick’s class. You couldn't pay me enough if you had all the gold in ancient Shurima- no, triple that.”

There was a moment of silence again, this time ended by the taller of the two stepping away. He motioned his head toward the door, an awkward gesture accompanied by a small laugh. “And anyhow. They’ll need some kind of evidence you’re my guest, right?”

\-------

The crowds had, at least, somewhat diminished when he and Jayce arrived to the door. Many of the patrons had already made their way inside, and the discomfort Viktor felt was somewhat eased. Those who remained looked to be the stragglers, the ones who had failed to be on time; some looked to be haphazardly tossed together, as though they’d forgotten until the last minute. 

He leaned closer to Jayce to speak, trying to keep it quiet. “Tell me again vhy I am here?”

“Because you’re the only Zaunite in the entire College, and seeing you looking and acting like a refined human being might put you and Zaun in better light,” came the bland reply. “It’s basically a way of showing you’re not just a bunch of psychopaths with tools.”

He felt a little insulted, he was certain- yet simply shrugged in response. He figured it to be more ideal to correct the man in private- 

Zaunites preferred the term mad scientist. 

The man at the ticket booth spoke a dialect of Piltovian that Viktor hadn’t quite grasped, yet didn’t need to; the look of questionable disdain was one he was used to. A few words exchanged, the tickets passing hands, and Jayce was nodding to him to follow through the doors. The theatre was magnificent; carpets of red and gold covered the marble flooring. Elegant decor adorned the walls, and beautiful portraits of what he could only assume were actors hung on the walls.

He followed Jayce up the stairs, one hand resting on the copper banister; he almost wished he didn’t have his gloves on, to feel the metal on his skin. Up the stairs, to the left; they emerged onto a balcony, the lights still bright in the hall; he could see the props being placed on the stage, the lighting being placed. 

He pulled his curious eyes away to see Jayce wiping off the seat he’d picked; after a moment, the man sat down and gestured to Viktor to do the same. As he did, he heard Jayce speak, though it was almost lost to the clamor of the hall. He leaned closer once sat, moving his hand to show he hadn’t heard his companion and being rewarded with him leaning closer.

“You’re not scared of loud noises, right?” 

“Only if zhey are sudden.”

“I’ll warn you before the cannons go off, then.”

“Did you just say cannons?” 

"Just watch, neat freak. You'll see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viktor in a suit is lovely and nobody can tell me otherwise


	8. Theatre Hall | Interlude 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was a day late- my birthday as yesterday and i got caught up in it. Except part 3 to come in the next week!

As the curtains fell and the lights rose, the chatter of the hall was overwhelming; applause rang out, a wave of approval from the crowd. Many of the crowd went to shuffle away for the first break of the night; the play, written in three acts, was long enough to go from dusk to dawn if it hit a rough patch. Viktor remained in his seat, even as he heard the applause from below. The crowd thinned, and the noise dimmed; the actors were gone, replaced by stand-ins who were cleaning up the destroyed props. Dimly, he wondered how many times they’d destroyed faux vases- misshapen ones, that would replace the one that was eventually shattered on stage.

As the noise died out to a point of reason, Viktor turned his attention to the seat beside him, only to find that the seat was empty; Jayce had left his coat in the chair, along with the gloves. He supposed the man had been hungry, as the play had been going for a rather long while. He felt the familiar pangs of hunger that meant he should eat, but they weren’t strong. They were never strong anymore, not at first. He could wait.

Instead, he leaned back in his own chair, thumbing at the cufflinks in his sleeves. He bit his lip, uncomfortable at the best. The play was clearly not written with both stories in mind; the main character was awfully egotistical, even more so than his roommate, and he had witnessed Jayce have an absolute fit over someone even insinuating that he had made a mistake. The love plot was overdone and awfully written. Love at first sight didn’t exist- or at least, no record of it existed in reality.

He watched, idly playing with the cufflink until he heard the familiar footfalls of his companion; he looked up to see Jayce carrying two bottles in one hand, and two bags in the other. Jayce set the items down in his chair, putting the coat over the back of it before splitting the pair of items in two. Viktor reached out to take one bottle and one bag as Jayce switched places with his own; peering inside, Viktor found two cookies and a single strand of red licorice. 

“Didn't know what you like, so I got you what I like.” Viktor pulled the cookies out enough to see what they were. Chocolate chip, both of them. Not his personal preference, but he would never decline a treat. He did not vocalize his preference of plain sugar cookies, though he realized too late his grimace was visible. 

“Are you enjoying the show so far?” Jayce may not have intended to jolt Viktor out of his own thoughts, but that was the effect he had earned; the expression on his face faded as he looked up, blinking as he comprehended the question. He felt his expression sour before he spoke. He had to get better at hiding that. 

“It isn't… entirely accurate, but it is acceptable so far.” The eyebrow raise from his companion earned a nervous twist, to which he held his hands up. “Not zhat it’s bad to be inaccurate- it’s just one sided. Very one sided. I can explain later.”

“Well, we have time,” came the bland reply. Jayce looked a mix of offended and curious; in his mind, he realized that Jayce could be likened to a cat. Between the ego, pride and possibly life-ending curiosity, Jayce had accidentally become rather close to a feline. 

“Not enough. Besides, I haven’t seen the entire play yet. I can’t make judgements off the first act alone.” The discomfort left him as Jayce nodded; he seemed to understand. With a sigh of relief, Viktor lowered his hands, and leaned forward to see the stage; a beautiful backdrop had been unfurled, the cloth that the artists had painted looking much like the interior of the fallen Cloudfarer- or at least, what illustrations painted it as.

“Hard to believe the entire airship went up in flames. Did you know they never recovered the bodies of either captains?” Jayce sounded strangely apologetic from beside him. 

“Vell, Captain Roberts died in the main boiler room, you know. Zhere vasn’t a body to recover.” Viktor shrugged. “Captain Copperhood died on the vheel of the ship. She vas likely tossed from the deck vhen they struck the mountainside.”

“You’re getting better with your Piltovian, Viktor.” He paused for a moment, long enough for Viktor to look at him. He man looked sober, more so than Viktor knew him to be. “I didn’t know Roberts died in the boiler room.”

“Vell, yes. He vent down to the boiler room to attempt to compensate for the cascade failure. From vhat the survivors told us, he kept it going long enough for Copperhood to level the ship and for the crew to start proper evacuation.”

“I thought he mutinied?”

 

“Vhat? No. Zhat man loved the Cloudfarer- and many zhought he loved Copperhood. He as enamored both vith her… and his ship.”

There was an uncomfortable pause as the crowds began to filter back in through the doors, as the lights began to slowly dim in preparation for the next act.

“You may not like Act Two, Vik.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cackles


	9. Theatre Hall | Interlude 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promise this little chunk has a good ending. I promise! There's still one installment left, and it'll be longer than normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember how i said a week?
> 
> i lied

The second act over, the crowd was dispersing once again. Hundreds of people filing out for a breath of fresh air, a laugh, to talk about the quality of acting and props and the excellency of the lighting; all of which were indeed worthy of praise. That is if Viktor had been thinking straight.

He had gotten up moments before the lights had been raised, and had left with a curt word to his companion; pulling his scarf up over his face so that the air didn’t cause an issue. He didn’t pause as he walked down the stairs as quickly as he could without being stopped; he pushed the door open, barely pausing for the change between the warm theatre and the cool autumn air outside. His breath hitched, lungs struggling for the briefest moment to adjust.

Or maybe that was the emotional cocktail brewing internally. 

It was only once he was outside the theatre that he let himself stop. He stepped aside from the doorway, finding a bench to sit on. His elbows rested on his knees, propping his arms up well enough for him to bury his face in his hands and restrain the frustrated scream that welled in his chest.

Of course, it was portrayed this way. He should have known. The Zaunite crew members were painted as mutineers who caused the entire crash; his city was at fault for something that was supposed to be the responsibility of both. The wreck had killed more Zaunites than Piltovians; of the two hundred passengers and sixty crew members, only forty-three had survived. All passengers. Of those forty-three passengers, seven were Zaunite.

He had read the true story in the memoirs of the Zaunite survivors. That there was an accident in the boiler room, one of them had exploded; the incident had caused a catastrophic cascade failure in the engine, and it took both captains to keep the ship airborne. The engineers had disappeared into the depths of the vessel to try and keep the ship’s descent controlled while crew evacuated the passengers to the emergency safety balloons, many of which were without the pilots needed to navigate. Not a single member of the crew stepped off the boat.

And his city was being blamed for an accident that claimed hundreds of lives.

He didn’t hear the footsteps until it was too late to deny his frustration; he looked up as they came to a stop mere feet from him. It was Jayce, the fool- the man who he almost wanted to punch in the face. Almost.

The expression of confused worry spared the blond from Viktor’s irritation, if only for a moment.

“Viktor, what-” 

“Is zhis what you teach about Zaun?” He didn’t mean to be angry. He didn’t mean to be irritable. He knew what it was, even if he had been ignoring the mutters and the quiet disdain that Piltovians had for him and his city. “Zhat ve’re a bunch of turncoat ruffians vith no loyalty? No dedication to our craft?”

The blond stuttered. He came to an abrupt halt, trying to look offended to cover the shock. He retracted on hand, huffing up; Viktor saw the furrow of his brows and the slight snarl behind his confusion. 

“What’s wrong with it? It’s what h-”

“It is not vhat happened, Jayce, and the fact you believe zhat zhis-zhis absolute mockery of such a tragedy is even remotely true is an insult to-” Viktor groaned, realizing he didn’t even know what it was offending. “It’s- it’s stupid.”

“Hear me o-" The tone in his voice as still worried, though affronted, though... something. Viktor decided it wasn't worth thinking about.

“I should have known better zhan to come to zhis. Enjoy zhe damn show, Giopara.”

He didn’t look up, nor give the Piltovian a moment to respond. He got up without another word, and kept his head down as he started down the street. He didn’t quite pay attention to where he was going by looking up, so much as following the directions he’d taken to get here, but in reverse. He wasn’t surprised when he found himself still alone after several minutes of walking.

It took him longer to find his way back on his own than if he had waited for the blonde. A wrong turn here, missing a street there, and he’d found himself at the dorm at least an hour later than he’d intended. He climbed the staircases as quietly as he could, attempting to respect the students who hadn’t attended such a ridiculous display. The door handle to the shared room jammed once, twice, or perhaps that as his hand shaking; when he had stepped through it, he realized belatedly that tears were falling. On some strange, deep level, it felt good. 

When he had climbed into the upper bunk and buried himself beneath the blankets, when he had propped the pillow up to hide his face from the prying eyes of his roommate, he wondered why it hurt so badly. Jayce was Piltovian, he was bound to think that this portrayal of Zaun was okay. He was bound to accept it as it as shown. There was never a reason to look deeper than the Smog.

When sleep finally claimed him, he still had no answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> isn't prejudice fun


	10. Of Strange Emotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Books

The room was quiet when he woke. The usual sound of his roommate's incessant snores was absent, and not a single click of clockwork to be heard. Only the rain against the roof was audible, a steady and quiet rhythm broken only by the occasional distant roll of thunder. When he framed his eyes open, he realized that the lamp at Jayce's desk was the only light that was on. It was generously half covered and even turned away, so it only illuminated that corner and wouldn't disturb the top bunk; he could see the silhouette of his roommate against the wall, slouched over and slowly moving a pen. 

 

Viktor briefly considered staying perfectly still and not alerting Jayce to his waking state. He thought of watching the man from the top bunk, watching what the other did when he thought the Zaunite was asleep. He considered going back to sleep, so he could ignore his living companion until absolutely necessary. He shifted slightly, enough to pull the blanket tighter over himself. Ignoring the issue wouldn't resolve it. 

 

Slowly, he rose from his position to look down at Jayce. He saw the man at his desk, writing something as slowly and quietly as he could on a pad of paper. Viktor wondered to himself what it may have been about before starting to pull the covers off; he realized that he had been sleeping in the suit he was given, though he had remembered to take his shoes off. He wondered silently if he had actually remembered, or if he had walked all the way back with no shoes. He decided it must be the former, for fear of having left shoes at the theatre hall. 

 

Slowly, he shifted, eventually swinging his legs over the edge of his bunk. He was pretty sure that was the noise that alerted Jayce to his waking status; he watched the man turn around so fast in his chair so quickly that he almost fell out of it. He scrambled to pull himself back into composure, tossing the pen haphazardly onto the work bench. 

 

“Viktor, you're awake, that's fantastic-”

 

“Vhy fantastic? I’m pretty sure I valked out on you.” He knew he likely sounded as irate as he had been last night, and yet found himself too exhausted to really care.

 

“We need to talk. About the play-”

 

“Don't bozer.” He paused. “Boz-er. Boh…. Oh, forget it.”

 

He heard a soft snort from Jayce. Viktor gave him an irate glare. Jayce immediately stifled his snickering, looking mildly sheepish as he continued anyway. 

 

“I want to know what your side- Zaun's side- of the story is. What you all know the story as. It upset you so much that you were crying when you left, Viktor. I don't… like it?” The questioning tone was enough to catch the Zaunite off guard, and yet the Piltovian kept on. “I don't like not knowing how to help or make it less stressful. You've handled everything well, don't get me wrong, it's just… you're pretty much the only one here who I can talk to without feeling like I'm talking over heads. I don't want to alienate you or… lose your company over this.”

 

Viktor sat in stunned silence for a moment. He wasn't quite sure how to reply to the other man, blinking and burrowing his brows before shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “So vhat you are saying is… you vant me to tell you my side… because you like to talk to me?” 

 

“That, and I feel bad for not giving you the script beforehand so you would know what was coming.” 

 

Viktor narrowed his eyes. 

 

Was that… an apology? 

 

“Fine. But only if you go get tea and let me change.”

 

“Deal.”

 

\----

 

When Jayce returned, Viktor had changed into comfort clothing; the loose pajamas he’d bought soon after he had become a resident of the College. A long sleeved, loose shirt and matching pants was enough for him, the dark grey fabric reminding him of home in a strange fashion. Jayce returned sooner than expected, looking a little winded and trying to hide the fact he likely sped up and down the stairwell.

 

The cup Jayce handed him was still warm, and Viktor was grateful for the mug. Baron Grey- as powerful as it was common, the tea was favored by students of the College. As far as anyone was aware, the College was the largest consumer of the leaves, and the students of the college were notorious for getting petty revenge over the dried plant.

 

He gave Jayce a nod as the blond sat at his respective workbench, hiding his smile behind his cup as Jayce let out a sigh. He set the mug down on his own table and turned his chair to face his roommate.

 

“Vhere do I begin?”

 

“Wherever we got it wrong.”

 

Viktor hesitated. He opened his mouth, before closing it and holding up a hand. He got up, moving to his bedside drawer and rummaging around. Surely, it was among the books he’d brought with- ah, there it was. He pulled out the worn book, hands brushing over the faded letters on the cover; he’d begged for this book from his father for almost a year, and it was the only one he’d ever been able to convince his father to buy.

 

_ The Memoirs of the Crew; The Cloudfarer’s Fate. _

 

Ah, the nights he’d spent in the light of the candles trying to decipher the handwriting of the two captains, reading the typed transcripts of the survivor’s testimonies. He was sure he’d spent more time with this book than his tools when he’d first gotten it. He turned to Jayce, moving over to him and placing the book on the work table. 

 

“This will do better zhan any explanation I can give. Be careful vith it; some of zhe pages are falling out. It is very old.”

 

“Memoirs of the crew?”

 

“Handwritten and hand duplicated. A difficult book to obtain in Zaun- I do not believe any Piltovian owns a copy, if zhey even know it exists.”

 

Jayce shifted to look at the book, hand lifting to brush fingers over the beloved text. Viktor sat back down, turning to clean his work desk. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to explain it without getting frustrated; it was easier to let him read than to get emotionally invested. When he looked back over, he was pleased to see that his roommate had opened the cover and was on the first entries of the captains.

 

“By zhe vay, Jayce?”

 

“Am I not Giopara anymore?”

 

“Not unless you vant to be, but- zhank you.”

 

The Piltovian lifted his head with a befuddled look, which earned a snort from the Zaunite.

 

“What for?”

 

“For being villing to hear zhe ozher side.”

 

“Well I can’t prove someone wrong if I don’t know where they’re coming from,” came an indignant and visibly pride-induced response. As viktor watched him puff up, he realized that he was becoming friend with an egotistical peacock.

 

He paused. Friends? With Jayce? It sounded absurd, for certain; the man was a strange one, with good intentions and a bad attitude. Talented at all things mechanical, yet burned water when attempting to cook. Even the smallest, most useless piece of machinery was treated with more kindness than would be afforded to other people.

 

Viktor returned to tidying his desk, sipping at the tea Jayce had given him. As he cleaned, he pondered what it meant to have a friend in strange places, and thought to himself of what it meant to be friends in Piltover. Perhaps Jayce would not realize it, but that was fine; in truth, Viktor didn’t quite know either.

 

But a friend sounded rather nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here you go, i'm sorry it took so long, see you again soon with the next chapter and I assure you the next chapters have ROMANCE. if you call late night study sessions romance anyway  
> they're fuckin nerds
> 
> as i update this the fic has 420 hits, you know what to do

**Author's Note:**

> Stanwick's full name is Thomas Stanwick.  
> The Headmistress is heavily visually based on The Corpse Bride.  
> Please catch my Heathers reference.


End file.
